Time Without End
by faketreefinger
Summary: Grissom ponders Eternity and Hell. Then, with help from Sara, Heaven. My entry to Geekfiction's Summer Reading Ficathon.


**This was my entry for the ****Geekfiction**** Summer Reading ****Ficathon****. My prompt was Maya Angelou.**

_**"Refusal"**_

_**By Maya Angelou**_

_Beloved,_

_In what other lives or lands_

_Have I known your __lips_

_Your hands_

_Your Laughter brave_

_Irreverant_

_Those sweet excesses that_

_I do adore._

_What surety is __there_

_That we will meet again,_

_On other worlds some_

_Future time undated._

_I defy my body's haste._

_Without the promise_

_Of one __more sweet__ encounter_

_I will not deign to die_

**Time ****Without**** End**

The form of a small, slumping boy, legs dangling over the hospital bed was the dismal image that greeted Gil Grissom as he walked slowly into the room. The boy's head was bowed and his lips were moving inaudibly. Grissom knew what he was doing and his heart ached, physically ached.

Out of respect, he stopped in the doorway and turned his eyes to the floor, waiting for the boy to look up. After a moment, he heard a sniffle and the boy whispered "amen." Grissom looked up to find the boy's head still bowed. He walked closer, hoping he would look up. He did and Grissom gave a sad smile.

"Hi there, Jason," he said in a calm, but not overly friendly voice.

"Who are you?" The boy's voice was timid, laced with unshed tears.

"I'm Gil Grissom. I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I just want to talk with you for a few minutes, okay?"

Jason straightened himself and looked Grissom in the eyes. He nodded and immediately looked back down. He had a large bandage on the right side of his forehead. His right eye was sickeningly blue and purple, and his lip had a small cut on it. Grissom gave a cursory glance to his hands. They were gripping the side of the hospital bed, turning white.

Grissom debated where he should sit, how he should do this to appear as non-threatening to Jason as possible. It was going to be a hard conversation, though he was still unsure as to whom it would be most difficult for. Cases like this always got to him. He was never sure if there was a specific reason why, but for as long as he had been a crime scene investigator, they had. It made him sick when children were _forced_ out of their childhood instead of growing out of it.

It made him sick… but it made him even sadder. There weren't many things that could depress him, but cases like this… they always could. Without fail. He was already starting to feel himself slip into the dark crevice of his mind. The place where he would spend hours contemplating why people were the way they were and if they would ever change.

"How old are you, Jason?" Grissom asked as he leaned gingerly against the bed, side by side with Jason.

"Eleven. I'll be twelve next month. How old are you?"

Having that particular question turned around on him wasn't what he expected and he couldn't help but smile at the unpredictability of children. "Old."

"How old?" Jason asked as he turned his head. Grissom noticed the boy's eyes and how they looked older than nine years old.

"Fifty-one."

Jason's eyebrows rose and he looked back to the floor. "That is pretty old." Grissom smiled again and nodded. After a moment, Jason began swinging his feet back and forth. "Did you find out who killed him?"

His voice seemed older than nine years too and Grissom winced at the bluntness of his question. The lack of segue way. But his eyes were glued to the floor and Grissom knew it was because the boy couldn't bear to look at him.

"I think so," Grissom replied simply and Jason nodded in acknowledgement.

"Is he going to jail?"

Grissom sighed and decided to dodge the question, not knowing how to answer it. "We know _how_ your father was killed." Jason didn't reply, didn't look up, didn't do anything but stop swinging his legs. Grissom continued, "He was strangled to death." Another long pause ensued and Grissom began doubting if he could press on. But he did, just as he always did. "With a small pair of hands."

Jason looked at Grissom then and his mouth twisted to the side as he thought about what Grissom said. He didn't look surprised or even that he cared.

"Yeah. I know." His voice was tired, but Grissom was amazed at how steady he had become. He looked back to the floor and began swinging his legs again.

"I know you know." It was all Grissom could think to say.

"I knew you'd find out I did it anyway. Was only a matter of time." He looked back up at Grissom and asked, "Am I going to jail?" It sounded as if he was more curious than worried about the prospect of going to jail. Still, Grissom couldn't answer the question.

"Why," Grissom asked, "did you make the decision to kill him, Jason?" He was almost pleading, desperate to know why this boy would choose to ruin his own future.

Iwas obvious that Jason was smarter than most eleven year olds and a lot more mature. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

Jason sighed and pulled his hands up to rest his chin on them. "Does it matter?"

"Yes. It does."

After a significant pause, Jason began speaking into his hands. His eyes were fixed in front of him as if he were in a daze. "When I was seven and a half, my mom died. Did you know that?"

"No," Grissom lied. He wasn't sure why.

"She did. I don't really remember her much, I just remember that my dad wasn't so angry all the time. She died and then he spent all of his time at work. I never saw him because I was always at my neighbor's. I would go home when he got home, but he would go in his room and he wouldn't come out. He cried a lot then." Jason paused and wiped his eyes.

"Then my neighbor moved and I had to spend more time at home. My dad started drinking a lot and he was mad all the time. I didn't get anymore birthdays or even Christmas. Then he started hitting me. He only pushed me at first. Like, pushed me into walls. But then he started hitting me and throwing stuff at me. I had to make up stories about falling off my bike."

"You never told anyone about how abusive your father was?" Grissom asked, though reluctant to interrupt.

"No. I didn't think anyone would care."

Grissom shook his head and wanted nothing more than to ensure the boy that someone cared, someone always cared.

Jason's eyebrows came together and for the first time, he looked angry. "I got tired of bleeding and getting bruises that I had to lie about. So when he passed out drunk after beating me up, I tried to smother him with a pillow. But it didn't work. So I choked him. He never woke up."

Grissom took a breath and ran a hand over his face. Somehow it was unbelievable that a child was saying these things.

"Why did you call 911?" Grissom asked.

He shrugged. "I guess I got scared. After that, he wasn't my dad anymore… he was just a dead guy."

"I see."

"I hope he's in Hell."

Grissom grimaced and pushed himself from the bed. It truly was unbelievable that he was having this conversation with an eleven year old. He never got used to this kind of stuff. A moment passed and Grissom wasn't sure what to say to the boy. Jason looked up with a thoughtful expression.

"Do you think I'm going to Hell for killing my dad?"

Grissom's head snapped up. He was completely unprepared for the question. He knew he should find a vague answer, something inconclusive, but he couldn't bring himself to. He wanted nothing more than to comfort the boy.

"No, I don't."

"I hope not. I don't think I will." He paused and looked back down. "Am I gonna go to jail?" It was the third time he had asked and Grissom couldn't evade the question anymore.

"Jason… I can't really say what's going to happen to you. I don't know for sure."

"Oh." He paused, and then added hesitantly, "Well, I've been praying about it."

Grissom nodded gave a weak smile. "That's good."

"My mom used to pray with me every night. My dad caught me praying and beat me for it. He said that there was no such thing as God or Heaven… so praying wouldn't do me any good." Jason looked up and shook his head sadly with a strange look of pity on his face. "I hope there is a Hell 'cause that means he's there for eternity. I never want to hear his voice again or see his face again. Never."

Grissom's head was shaking from side to side slightly of its own volition. Out of sheer curiosity, he asked, "Do you feel bad about killing him?"

Jason didn't look at him and his face remained impassive, as if he had expected the question. But, when he spoke the emotion was evident in his voice. "I dunno. I guess I should. And I know I deserve to go to jail. But it doesn't matter."

He was confused. This boy was clearly not a sociopath or psychotic. He showed emotion and had a clear knowledge of right and wrong. _Why doesn't he think it matters? Why wouldn't an eleven year old boy care about going to jail_, thought Grissom, and he decided to pose the question, very interested in anything the boy had to tell him.

"Why doesn't it matter, Jason?"

He looked up at Grissom with his oddly aged and tired eyes and gave a slight frown. "Because now I know for sure that I'll never see him again. He'll be in Hell. And my mom will be in Heaven waiting for _me_." He paused and looked down and when he continued, his voice was small and shaky as if he was fighting back tears. "That'll show him."

It was wretchedly remarkable, the logic the young boy had used. Grissom had to wonder if Jason's logic would change as he grew older, if he would see the situation the same way. Revenge, love, fear, hatred. They were all intense and common human emotions and combined, they had created a murderer out of an eleven year old boy.

He thought about telling him that there was something to be said about forgiveness, but decided against it. The boy would probably never forgive his father. He would live in hatred for the man, his happiness being sapped by him even in his death. He never wanted to see him again, but he would. Whether in Hell or Heaven, Jason's father would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Grissom hoped the man was in Hell and then felt disdain for himself for even thinking that.

He put his hand on the mature boy's shoulder, a comforting but solid gesture, and smiled forlornly. "Keep praying, Jason."

When Grissom got home, Sara wasn't there. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he was glad. He wanted to be left alone to his thoughts. Sara never pushed him to talk and always seemed to sense when Grissom needed alone time. Still… he wanted to be alone. He didn't want her to think he was ignoring her.

He changed into a pair of jeans and his favorite dark blue t-shirt and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. The sunlight was dissipating and he decided it might be good for his somber mood to watch it so he slid the door open that lead to his tiny pavement porch. He sat down on the warm pavement step and leaned against the brick wall that separated his porch from the neighbors, taking sips from his beer and watching the sky as the light dimmed.

He heard the front door open and he turned around to see Sara stumbling in with a brown paper bag tucked under each arm. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the sliding glass door and she smiled at Grissom as she sat the bags down. He smiled the best he could and she blew him a kiss from the kitchen. He put his hand up and grasped at the air, pretending to catch the kiss, and her smile widened. She started putting the groceries away, still smiling. He wanted to smile like that. He just couldn't.

He wanted to go in there and hug her, kiss her long and deep. Thank her for being alive for him. Tell her how much he needed her and wanted her and couldn't _live_ without her. He just couldn't. And he wondered why, after everything that happened to him and Sara, _why_ couldn't he just do that? Why couldn't he just tell her these things he felt?

Right now, he was feeling like shit. The whole situation with Jason and his father had brought Grissom down pretty low and he wondered why exactly. It wasn't as though he identified with Jason. Not really anyway. He had lost his father at that age, sure, but it was different. Wasn't it? His father didn't beat him and he had a good, loving mother. His childhood was a dream compared to Jason's. And maybe that's what he felt bad about. Maybe not. He _hated_ maybes and _hated_ feeling down like this when only time could pull him out his cavernous thoughts.

_People _should_ be evolving__, but they don't__. People __are ridiculous and cruel. That man _should_ spend eternity in Hell for taking that boy'__s childhood__ away. _

He was judging. He hated it when he judged. It made his mood even more fowl and he rolled his eyes at himself. He closed his eyes and leaned his head on the hard brick.

He opened his eyes when he heard the door slide open. He didn't turn his head. He knew she would see… whatever, how miserable he felt maybe?… in his eyes and on his face. She didn't say a thing and he saw her sit down on the opposite side of the pavement beside him. She was five feet away, her back leaning on the brick wall on the other side. He hated it that she did that, kept space between them, and hated himself for appreciating it all the same.

After a few minutes of complete silence, Grissom couldn't take it anymore. He took a long sip of his beer, the last sip, and set it down hard on the pavement. He looked ahead and sighed.

"You stay out here too long and my mood is going to rub off on you," he said with cheerless laugh that died the moment it reached the air.

She didn't say anything and he looked over at her, raising his eyebrows. She gave a tight smile and shrugged.

"Oh, well," she finally said and he was glad she had come out here after all. He wished she was just scoot over towards him and lean her head on his soft shoulder instead of that hard brick wall. "What are you thinking about?" she asked and he gave a small frown.

"Death. Hell. Eternity. That sort of thing."

"Gloomy."

He hadn't thought that he wanted to talk about it, but maybe it was the way she was keeping distance between them. He wanted to bring her closer into his head. So, he looked back up to the now darkened sky and gave a sad sigh. "This kid killed his dad because he beat him. He told me he hoped he was in Hell because he would be there for eternity. He said he deserved it and… I'm not so sure I disagree."

He could see Sara nodding out of the corner of his eye. "And that's unsettling for you."

He nodded. "Yes. It does. It's not my job to judge that."

"What did you tell the kid?"

"Nothing really," he paused and wondered for some reason if he should continue. "I told him to keep praying." He looked over at her face to gauge her reaction, but she was looking down, dragging a stick along the gray pavement.

"That's good advice," she said in a whisper and Grissom's eyebrow's came together. She almost sounded sad, as sad as him, and he was worried that maybe his mood _had_ rubbed off on her as well.

"You pray?" he asked.

"I do now."

He narrowed his eyes on her. "I thought you didn't believe—"

She cut him off with a humorless laugh. "Well, as cliché as it sounds—and it is—things change a little bit when you think you're going to die…" she lowered her voice and looked down, almost as if she was ashamed. "When you're _sure_… that you're dying."

He felt foolish and that familiar lurch of pain in his stomach that he felt whenever she mentioned… that. That—the most horrible thing that had ever happened to him and the most horrible feeling he had ever had. Grissom's face and mood fell even more and he had no idea what to say or do.

"Sara—" His throat tightened and he tried to swallow, but couldn't.

"I'm sorry. I'm not really helping you get out of your mood, am I?" She gave a nervous laugh and he shook his head, waving his hand at her.

He shrugged, a cheerless smile tugging at his lips. "Well, I don't want to be brought out of my mood just yet, anyway."

She nodded like she understood. "Do you want to know… what I think about eternity?" She stood up and moved closer to him, sitting only a few inches from him, but still not touching. "I think…" She sighed and he looked at her curiously. "When I was out there… thinking about death, I thought, _Wow, I'm dying. Death is forever. I'm nev__er going to get to see __Grissom ever again_." She paused and took a shaky breath.

"I thought… I'm never going to hear you laugh again. Or feel you touch me." She looked over to him, a tender smile crossing her face as she lifted her hand and touched her fingertips to his brow. "Never again could I watch as your eyebrows come together while you're deep in concentration" Her fingers traced a line over the bridge of his nose. "Or how your nose wrinkles every now and then when you're sleeping." Her finger landed on his lips and she lowered her voice, almost to a whisper, "Or… how your lips feel against mine. Perfectly."

He opened his eyes, he hadn't realized he had closed them, and brought his hand up to hers, kissing her fingers and lacing them with his. He let out a small, sad sigh, and was completely lost for words. Real words that meant something. Words that weren't trite or heedless.

"Sweetheart—" he began, but was cut off by her as if she hadn't even heard him.

"But then I thought... what if there _is_ a heaven, you know? Because if there _is_… then I could. I could see you again. In fact, we could spend eternity together. And that was," she paused again and looked at him with watery eyes. But she was smiling. A good smile, a real smile. "That was a comforting thought, you know?" A long pause ensued as Grissom searched for something to say.

Finally, Sara continued with her thought, "So I guess I just believe in it because… I don't think I could die peacefully knowing I would never see the people that I love ever again. The idea of spending eternity with… with the people I love is _comforting_. It's a good thought. Whether I'm dying or not. Whether I'm _sure_ of it or not." She scoffed. "I mean, it's better than spending an eternity alone in a pine box."

It was his turn to say something vulnerable and profound. Something revealing about him. But he couldn't so he just offered her a weak smile and wiped away the tear that ran down her cheek. He might have told her that he prayed every moment he could that night that she was lost in the desert. He might have mentioned that he cried for the first time in so, so many years, when they found her. He might have cried right along with her at that moment and told her how much his love for her was. That it consumed him in a way that nothing ever had. If only he could, but for some reason completely unknown to him… he could not. And he was the sadder for it.

She sniffled a bit and laughed. One of those tense laughs that attempted to hide discomfort, but only succeeded in revealing it more. "So anyway," she said casually, "I can't believe I ended up crying." She stood up and his eyes followed hers. He was frowning and he knew he looked miserable and grim, but she just kept smiling at him anyway. "Grissom… if you're going to think about death and eternity don't think about Hell." She bent down to kiss his forehead and whispered against his skin, "Think about Heaven."

With that, she gave one last smile and disappeared behind the glass door.

He smiled to himself and picked up the stick she had been playing with. He drew an imaginary heart on the pavement and chuckled at himself. "Okay," he said out loud and stood up. He wiped his jeans and went back inside.

When Grissom entered the dark townhouse, he could hear the shower going. He wondered if he should maybe join her, but he didn't really feel up to it yet. Instead, he wrote her a note that he was going for a quick walk and he would be back shortly.

He drew a heart on the piece of paper and colored it in with the pen, which was very unlike him, but he smiled at it anyway and grabbed his coat, making sure to lock the door on the way out.

He walked… nowhere in particular. Around the block. He listened to the noises and watched the few people that he passed. A young couple, hand-in-hand. A woman jogging with her dog. A man jogging by himself. A couple jogging together. An old couple walking… hand-in-hand. That made him smile, inside and out, and he hung his head as his smile grew wider and wider.

Yes. Eternity sounded good. It sounded comforting. He could certainly spend an eternity with Sara. He didn't know about anyone else, but Sara… that was for certain. Shakespeare's sonnet number 108 came to mind and he recited it in his head.

_…So that eternal love in love's fresh case,_

_Weighs not the dust and injury of age,_

_Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,_

_But makes antiquity for aye his page…_

Jason's belief that his mother was waiting for him in Heaven had made him practically impervious to the horrors of being locked away in prison. Horrors that a normal boy might face. And his belief that his father was getting what he deserved in Hell, where he could never again hurt him, gave him a solid sense of justice. Grissom hadn't really thought much about it before. But it was comforting to him, knowing that something good and beautiful that persists endlessly throughout time would meet him even as his last breath left his body.

Sara was the endless beauty that he had to look forward to and the thought made his heart beat in quick vibrant pulses. Sara had been right to think of eternity in terms of Heaven. She would be his Heaven, after all. And he would be hers. He could practically feel his disheartened and heavy mood rolling off of his shoulders as he slowly strolled along the sidewalk. He felt lighter with a bit of purpose he hadn't felt in a while.

_I should go ho__me now. I should tell Sara this. __This right here.__ W__hat I'__m feeling r__ight now_,he thought. He turned around and headed home with every intention of doing just that.

When he opened the door, he was startled by how quiet and dark it was.

"Sara?" he called out as he shrugged out of his jacket and shoes. He walked into the bedroom and found her fast asleep with a book falling from her fingers and the lamp glowing softly by her side of the bed. He sighed at how beautiful she was. How young and vulnerable she looked in slumber.

He needed to touch her so he quietly and smoothly laid down beside her, still in his jeans and t-shirt, and ran his fingers gently through the strands of hair that had fallen by her face. She stirred and her eyes fluttered open. They stared at each other for a moment and Grissom's mouth turned upward in an adoring smile.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked in a whisper.

He nodded. "Much."

"Good."

Grissom knew this was his moment to tell her. To pour his heart out—as much as he could anyway. There was no good reason why he shouldn't.

"Sara, you know I love you very much," he swallowed, "Don't you?"

She nodded and smiled. "Of course."

"I love you so much it hurts. And it hurts so much it feels good." He chuckled. "I don't even know what that means, but… it's how I feel. And I'll feel it forever." He paused and lowered his voice to the most intimate tone he could muster. "I'll feel it for eternity, Sara."

She leaned over and kissed him, slow and soothing. She pulled back and looked at him seriously. She looked like she didn't know what to say or how to say it and he chuckled at the thought of his words leaving _her_ speechless for once.

Pulling her into an embrace, he added, low and soft in her ear, "It _is_ comforting."

After a moment, she asked, "What is?"

"That we have eternity."

She looked up at him with heavy eyelids, her features gentle and understanding. A soft, warm hand met his cheeks and she slowly nodded in agreement.

He smiled slightly and placed a loving kiss to her lips. He sighed against them, whispering quietly, "I'm sure of it."


End file.
